


Just dessert

by waldwasser



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: ...kind of, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Siblings, Underage Drinking, but it's based on the preeboot characters, no idea whether you could reasonably place this in either continuity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waldwasser/pseuds/waldwasser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wayne manor is hosting a big event for Gotham's high society. Things don't go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just dessert

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon the pun.  
> Inspired by something that happened at a family celebration. Also, my very first fanfic ever, written while I couldn't sleep and had too much batfam on my mind... Although I'm not really sure whether there's enough plot to count this as a fanfic... drabbel? Character study? Oh well.  
> Opinions and criticism are always welcome :)

He can hear the sounds of the gala behind him, drifting out of the ball room into the clear evening air. The laughter of a woman, hearty and slightly tipsy, quickly joined by a second, deeper chuckel. The clicking of high heels on polished hardwood floors, glasses chiming together in a toast. The faint music from the string quartet in a distant corner of the huge room.

Tim is standing at the banister of the wide balcony, looking over the dark gardens of the manor, the sable only broken by the occasional lantern. Illuminating a small path, a patch of grass, a few flowers. Like islands in a wide ocean. He twists his empty glass absently before placing it on the banister, wondering whether he'll ever get used to these events. Smiling for the cameras, feigning interest in what Gotham's elite have to share in terms of gossip and anecdotes. He's getting better at it, but after three, almost four hours, he's almost reached his limit. The relative quiet of the balcony, empty but for Dick making conversation with a couple ladies by the window, is a relief.

There's a noise behind him, but he doesn't bother to look away from the gardens until he hears the unmistakable “Drake”.

( _“And here I thought the evening couldn't get nicer”_ )

He takes a deep breath before turning around. Damian is standing halfway between the rectangle of light that is the high window and Tim. He looks only slightly out of place in his smart new suit, an empty dessert plate balanced in one hand.

“What is it, de- Damian?” Tim catches himself, glancing at Dick and his entourage, chattering only a few feet away.

Damian's frown deepens for a second, probably annoyed, before he takes another step for

ward.

“Father has requested your presence inside. There are several investors who want to discuss-”

He takes another step towards Tim and almost stumbles, catching himself and his plate at the last second. Tim frowns. It's not like Damian at all to be this clumsy. His face looks flushed, but that could be due to the shift from the warm ball room to the cool night. Still...

“Hey, what's going on? Are you… feeling alright?”

Definitely a bad move. The frown settles deeper on Damian's face while he takes another (careful) step. He clicks his tongue contemptuously.

“Of course I-” but now that he is closer, Tim can see something on the corner of his mouth. A dark smudge that looks suspiciously like… He can't help but grin a little when he asks: “Damian, did you eat of the dark chocolate dessert? The one at the very end of the dessert table?”

Damian looks confused for a second, so Tim prompts “The one that was not on the children's dessert menu?”

There's a spark of recognition on Damian's features, then, recognition – and defiance.

“Drake, I'll have you know that this is my father's – house and, and that I can eat whatever I want.” He frowns again, looking surprised by his difficulty with finding the right words.

Tim rolls his eyes. “It wasn't kept of the children's menu to slight you! I know that it looks great and chocolaty, but do you know how much _vodka_ they put in there? Damian, how much of that did you _have_?” The boy only looks more confused, and Tim tries to hold back a laugh, but doesn't quite manage to.

Which was aparently a mistake.

Damian seems to make up his mind, dropping into an (unsteady) crouch. “I can have as many plates of dessert as I want, Drake!” (if he notices the slight slur to his words, he doesn't let it show) “And- and you can't tell me anything anyway!”

Tim ducks out of sheer reflex when the dessert plate aimed vaguely at his head shoots past him. He can hear it shatter two floors below on the stones of the patio.

“Damian, _stop_! The guests-” but Damian keeps talking “And I'm not some stupid child who can't handle a d-dessert, so stop _LAUGHING AT ME_!”

And he jumps, twisting into a corkscrew and vaulting over Tim's head to land on the banister behind him.

At least, that's what he's aiming for.

* * *

 

Dick has been listening halfheartedly to the prattle of the heiress and her attendants for the last minute or so, one eye on his brothers. But it's an official occasion, and there are a lot of civilians/potential eye witnesses here. Tim should be relatively safe from one of Damian's surprise attacks. He has just turned back to laugh at a joke of the attendant, splendid in her deep indigo dress, when there's the sound of shattering porcelain, followed by “Damian, _stop_!”.

Dick spins around to see Damian flying over Tim's head, aiming for the marble banister behind him. Only one of his feet makes it, the other missing by half a foot. He can hear one of the attendants gasp, but he can't move. He sees Damian stumble, carried on by his own momentum. There's a faint look of surprise on his face as one hand reaches for a grapple that isn't there. Dick starts towards the banister, but he's too far away, he _knows_ it's too far, he isn't going to reach Damian in time, and he's _falling_ and oh _please no_ -

Tim's hand closes around Damian's wrist, pulling him back towards the balcony, and he topples over the banister to land gracelessly on the illuminated tiles. In a heartbeat Dick is next to them.

Damian doesn't seem to realize exactly what just happened. He is on his feet again, one knee of his ridiculously expensive suit torn to pieces, struggling to free his arm from Tim's grip. But his eyes are wide with shock.

“Drake, let me go! I swear if you don't, I'll- I'll- I'm fine, I- _ugh_ ”

He doubles over suddenly, his usually caramel colored skin looking pale against the surrounding night. Tim's hand is on his shoulder, steadying him. He looks pathetic like that, small and sick.

Dick searches his face, then looks up at Tim to find him mouthing “The chocolate dessert” over Damian's head.

It takes Dick a second, then he feels himself releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. No illness. No poison. Just a stupid dessert. He crouches in front of his youngest brother, ignoring the hushed whispers from the ladies by the window.

“Hey little D. What do you say, let's leave this party and call it a night, huh?” Damian looks up at that, a little unsteady but trying valiantly not to show how sick he must be feeling.

“Oh, Grayson.” And, after a second. “I suppose we might as well. If you can't even stand a few hours of civilized company...”

* * *

 

Damian's room is dark, the only light coming in from the corridor through the half-closed door. Dick is sitting on the edge of the huge bed, one hand on Damian's hair. The boy is sleeping, deep and peaceful, snoring a little with each breath. Dick knows, logically, that he's alright now. He didn't fall. Nothing happened. But he can't bring himself to get up and leave just yet. He can't stop his hands from shaking, either.

There are footsteps in the hallway, then a noise by the door. He looks up to find Tim standing on the threshold.

“Shouldn't you be in bed by now?”

Tim just shrugs and takes a few steps towards the bed. “Hey, I'm not _that_ young anymore. And besides, shouldn't you be? I mean, you've been shouldering most of the burden all evening. Prince Charming entertaining the ladies...”

Dick smiles weakly at that, but get's up after ruffling Damian's hair one the last time. The boy frowns a little, but he doesn't wake up.

“Well, somebody has to keep up the family reputation. And really, we can't all spend our evenings poetically gazing at the stars, like some lonely philosopher looking for the meaning of life out there. You know, despite them being very pretty and all. But still, kinda boring-” He's babbling and he knows it. Probably trying to distract Tim from how his hands are still trembling. But he can't stop.

Tim closes the distance between them with two quick steps, and Dick feels himself wrapped in a firm hug, Tim's arms around his waist. He takes a second to return it and, feeling Tim's hair against his chin, forces his shoulders so relax a little.

“Hey, the brat is going to be okay.”

“I know.” And then, so quiet he's almost sure Tim won't catch it “ _Thank you_ ”.

Tim pulls away, grinning a little. “Hey, I know from first hand experience: That's what big brother's do for you. Pretty sure it's in the job description, actually. And besides“ and Tim's grin widens into something slightly more diabolical “I wouldn't want the demon spawn to miss out on the godawful headache he's going to wake up with.”

And Dick can't help but snort at that.


End file.
